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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26646973">(i crumble completely when you) cry</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/milk09/pseuds/milk09'>milk09</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>party anthems [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Dirty Talk, Dom Sakusa Kiyoomi, Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Power Bottom Sakusa Kiyoomi, Sub Miya Atsumu, Top Miya Atsumu, atsumu is in a band, i guess??, no beta we die like men, sakusa is a staff writer, sakusa is bone deep in denial</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 09:35:23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,325</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26646973</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/milk09/pseuds/milk09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Sakusa only intended to do it once. </p><p>But a few months later the Black Jackals were back in Japan, Sakusa Kiyoomi was back in Atsumu’s hotel room.</p><p>And it happened again. And again. And again.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>party anthems [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2121984</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>294</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>(i crumble completely when you) cry</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There’s something about him. There’s something about Miya Atsumu that drives him mad.</p><p>He’s heard of him before. He didn’t think it was possible not to.</p><p>Miya Atsumu, singer and guitarist of the up and coming rock band Black Jackals. They’re everywhere these days, their faces on posters pasted on lampposts and billboards he has to pass by when he goes to work and their songs playing in the background of television adverts. Sakusa didn’t give them much thought, really, until Black Jackals had arrived in Japan to promote the Asian leg of their tour and his boss had told him he had been assigned to cover them for their magazine.</p><p>Sakusa had nodded. Just a quick interview. Get in, get out. He was the last correspondent apparently, and by the time he went inside the press room it was already dark outside.</p><p>It was supposed to be <em> quick</em>. </p><p><em> Just a drink</em>, he remembers Atsumu saying with intent clear in his eyes and a coy smile on his face. After the recorder stopped, he was already preparing to leave. But a hand had circled around his wrist, thumb slowly caressing the sensitive skin there and made him flinch. Sakusa does not like people touching him, spreading their germs and dirt and filth, but Atsumu’s grip was firm. He had told him to come with them, to this new club in Tokyo that Sakusa had never even heard of. </p><p>He wasn’t even trying to be subtle. </p><p><em> Come on, don’t be such a killjoy</em>, he had said. Behind him, he could see the surprised looks Bokuto and Hinata were giving Atsumu, leading him to believe they did not talk about this beforehand and he wasn’t the only surprised by Atsumu’s request. But he could also see his smirk, confident and dangerous, and he couldn’t really remember the last time somebody made him feel this mad. </p><p>No, not… Not mad. He isn’t mad the same way he would be at an incompetent coworker or when the printer malfunctions and squirts ink all over the white pages in splotches. But his skin is already dirtied, and someone needs to put Atsumu back in his place, wipe that insolent grin right off his pretty face. </p><p>They barely drank any alcohol. They didn’t have to. They already knew why Atsumu invited him to that bar and they already knew why Sakusa said yes. It didn’t take long for them to get a cab to his fancy hotel and it took even less time for him to get on his knees.</p><p>It’s been a year since then.</p><p>Sakusa only intended to do it once. He doesn’t usually have one-night stands but when he does, they stay that way. Relationships aren’t his thing, no matter what kind it is. They’re complicated and messy, so when Atsumu gave him his number afterwards he didn’t think much about it, just put it in his pocket to eventually forget. </p><p>But a few months later Black Jackals were back in Japan, Sakusa Kiyoomi was back in Atsumu’s hotel room.</p><p>And it happened again. And again. And again.</p><p>There was no way he could have refused, no way he would’ve wanted to. So, he let Atsumu's hand tug on his and pull him inside.</p><p>That same hand is now fondling his cock, sweeping over the sensitive tip with his thumb, rough and calloused, probably by all the guitar playing, and a groan escapes his lips when he thumbs under the ridge. It feels <em> good</em>, in a way that only happens when it’s being done by someone who knows you. Atsumu spreads the precum around, making the slide easier and Sakusa that much more irritated. </p><p>Atsumu pants open-mouthed at the underside, hot breath teasing him for what's to come, before he slides his mouth, down, down, <em> down</em>. He takes it even deeper and he swallows, throat spasming against the intrusion and Sakusa’s hips buck into that tight, wet heat. He looks far too smug with a mouthful of cock, inviting him to fuck his throat like he doesn’t even care that he's going to sing live in front of thousands in a few days. </p><p>“Tch. You really like this, don’t you?” Sakusa clenches the fist still entangled in Atsumu’s hair when he doesn’t answer and pulls him off again. It takes more force than it should and Sakusa chuckles, cruel and low, as he watches Atsumu’s tongue try to chase his dick, only a temptingly few inches away. He’s so desperate. If he were a man with weaker resolve he would’ve fucked his face already. </p><p>“Answer me.”</p><p>“Wha’s the question?” He asks. What a pitiful scene this must make, Sakusa sitting on the plush bed and Atsumu fully naked, on his knees in front of him. They must hurt, Sakusa thinks. The bruises are gonna show by tomorrow. </p><p>He makes no move to help. He can tell Atsumu likes this kind of thing. His knees might bruise and his throat might hurt but his cock is hard and leaking between his legs. If anything, helping him right now would be the crueler choice. </p><p>And Sakusa is so very, very kind.</p><p>“You weren’t listening?” He asks, and makes sure his tone is demeaning, like he can't believe Atsumu wasn't even capable of doing this one simple thing. It’s soft, only a bit louder than a whisper, but it resounds in the quiet room. </p><p>Atsumu’s pupils dilate and Sakusa lets something resembling a smile pass his face, but only briefly. </p><p>“Atsumu.” He calls, makes it sharper this time. </p><p>“Yeah? C’mon, what’re ye tryna—” He huffs, smirk still in place, “I’m tryna suck yer dick, and if you don’t want that jus’ say so—” </p><p>The hand gripping his hair slowly trails down, only the fingertips making contact with the sensitive skin of his nape. It caresses his shoulders—soft, so soft, that Atsumu would’ve described it as tender—if only it didn’t wrap around his throat the next second. He quiets. </p><p>This. This is new.</p><p>There’s only the slightest of pressure there. He can breathe just fine, the air is going into his lungs normally, in and out, in and out—but he finds his breath stuttering all the same. A shiver runs down his spine as the hand forms a loose grip around his neck. A reminder. </p><p>Because Miya Atsumu is a brat. He’s smug and self-assured and arrogant, and what’s even more frustrating is that he probably had every right to. He’s built like a Greek statue and looks like he stepped out of a wet dream he’ll be embarrassed to remember in the morning. He's had hordes of adoring fans screaming his name every night, telling him how wonderful and talented and handsome he is, for months, years. His ego is the size of the moon because he's used to getting what he wants, when he wants it. </p><p>The hand on his neck is a reminder for him that that’s not the case now.</p><p>He likes it more than he should.</p><p>"You still haven’t answered my question."</p><p>Sakusa feels rather than sees him gulping, his Adam's apple bobbing against his thumb. He presses against it lightly, just to tease. It’s not really doing anything, but it’s another reminder that he <em> can </em>if he wanted to. "W-which one?"</p><p>"Both." </p><p>He closes his eyes to gather his thoughts. It’s hard when they’re like this. Usually he can’t shut up, even being labeled as a loudmouth by most people, but when Sakusa gets like this it’s so easy to forget his words, so easy to drown in the sea of sensation he gives him.</p><p>He must’ve taken too long to answer because Sakusa tuts again, sighs like he's so <em> disappointed </em> in Atsumu. His eyes fly open as the sound sends a heavy feeling in his stomach because he doesn't want that, <em> no</em>, he wants to be <em> good</em>, he wants to <em> please </em>—and Sakusa can see the exact moment it happens.</p><p>It's always so beautiful, seeing him turn like this. He can see the exact moment Atsumu becomes pliant, his words tripping over each other in a rush to answer, in fear of displeasing him. The fingers settled on his clothed thighs are more tentative now, almost reverent in the way they touch, the heat from his palms searing, waiting.</p><p>He loves seeing him like this, hanging onto every word he says. That rush of control over him that makes lightning run up his spine.</p><p>“Atsumu,” he calls, and brown eyes snap up to meet his immediately. “Oh, what a good boy. You’ll listen to me now, right?”</p><p>He nods obediently, then shivers. Only then is he reminded that Atsumu had been bare this whole time. His skin is gleaming now from the sweat, goosebumps rising wherever Sakusa touches. </p><p>“Strip me.” He commands, and Atsumu follows.</p><p>He bites like a fucking animal. As soon as his white dress shirt came off one shoulder, hard teeth were on the crux of his neck, sucking and licking and biting with the intent of leaving deep bruises that’ll last for weeks. He’s always like this, marking him like he’ll disappear if he won’t. There’s a desperation in his actions, in this moment, that Sakusa takes a disproportionate amount of pleasure in. In the morning they’ll look like splotches on his white skin, but he’ll press into it and <em> remember.</em> </p><p>“You should be grateful I like it, or else I’d have you over my lap crying right now.” He whispers close to Atsumu’s ear. He groans with his head tucked into Sakusa’s neck, bare thighs bracketing his still jean-clad hips now that he got up from his position on the floor.</p><p>“Take off yer shirt. Everythin’. Take it off.” He pants, pawing at Sakusa's clothes.</p><p>“I don’t know. Sounds a little demanding, doesn't it? And a good boy knows he’s not in a place to make demands, right?” </p><p>“Um—uh… P-Please? Please take everythin’ off?” He asks, so unsure. He feels so small like this, even if he is surrounding him, hands around his shoulders and thighs around hips. It’s like Sakusa can crush him in the palm of his hand like this. </p><p>He wants <em> more.  </em></p><p>“Of course.” </p><p>Deft fingers slowly unbutton his shirt, taking his time like he had just gone home from another day at work, like Atsumu isn’t there, waiting for it like a dog. With every inch of his skin exposed, the blond looks more and more ready to pounce.</p><p>He crawls on the bed carefully, appreciating the smell of fresh detergent on the soft sheets, though that won’t last for long. Atsumu is kneeling still, thighs trembling from the effort of keeping the position. So he <em> can </em>follow orders, Sakusa muses.</p><p>“Atsumu. Sit on the bed, back on the headboard. Put some pillows. You deserve some, don’t you think?”</p><p>“Yeah? I mean, y-yeah. Thank ya.” He heaves a grateful sigh when he gets into the position the journalist had instructed. </p><p>Sakusa is on his fours, facing him, and takes a moment to appreciate the view laid out in front of him. Atsumu’s hair is disheveled from all the tugging and pulling he did earlier, the leftover gel helping it stick out in every direction. His body is toned, and he remembers asking Black Jackals about their workout routines from a couple of hours ago, although it feels like it’s been years. What is beyond this, beyond the room of this hotel? Beyond the ache in his groin and the emptiness inside him that suddenly made itself known?</p><p>Atsumu’s dick flushes prettily at the tip, an enticing pink. It’s veiny, thick. There’s a drop of precum he would very much like to lick off.</p><p>He can’t wait to have it inside him.</p><p>Overcome with impatience, Sakusa eliminates their distance with a messy kiss. It’s wet, their tongues sliding together, lips warm against each other, but Atsumu is good at this, unsurprisingly. He’s definitely experienced, probably kissed a million people other than him. Sakusa doesn’t care—he shouldn’t, he only known this man for a year, doesn’t know him outside of touching his dick and the want to make him sob, but an unpleasant feeling coils in his gut anyway at the thought of someone else doing this, making Atsumu beg, putting their filthy hands on him, erasing him from his body— </p><p>He bites the older man’s bottom lip, puts enough force to make him whimper and bleed. He runs his tongue over it as an apology and tastes copper and satisfaction and something not enough. </p><p>Sakusa turns around, places himself so his ass is in the air, and orders Atsumu to hand him a pillow and the bottle of lube on the bedside table. It’s cold when it drips onto his fingers, and a little warmer when he rubs it onto his hole, puckered and waiting. </p><p>“Watch,” he orders. </p><p>Sakusa isn’t a performer. He isn’t like Atsumu, who loves, no, <em> demands </em> attention, commands it with grace and just enough arrogance to make him charming. He prefers to be the one holding the spotlight, directing attention to something else. He’s a journalist, this is what he does, this is what he’s good at. He takes something interesting, refines it for the world to consume. </p><p>But tonight he wants this for himself, wants Atsumu’s eyes on him. He wants his stare to burn with so much want he’ll regret ever inviting him out on that day, to just stare and not touch, not <em> have</em>.</p><p>The first and second fingers slide in easily, but he draws out the third for all its worth. He pumps them, in and out, in and out, until his wrist is aching and he can hear Atsumu’s frustrated groans over the squelching of the lube, some of it dripping down to his perineum, to his balls. He’s being stretched out so good but it’s not enough, he wants it to ache in the morning when he walks out of this place.</p><p>He rips the condom with his hands and rolls it onto Atsumu's dick slowly, pumping it a few times just to hear him cry out again.</p><p>When he sinks down, swallowing it inch by inch—It’s incomparable, the feeling of it inside him. He feels so full when he’s taken it all to the hilt, filled to the brim in a way he hasn’t for months that he had to take a minute to adjust, his insides moulding around the shape of his cock. </p><p>“You’re doing so good, Miya. Such a good boy. You’re not a brat anymore, right? No?” He asks, cupping Atsumu’s face in one hand. </p><p>Atsumu shakes his head pitifully and Sakusa wants to laugh in delight. He likes him like this, when he crumbles under him so easily, like putty in his hands willing to be molded to whatever he wants him to be, to do whatever he wants him to do.</p><p>He’s so weak now, ready to do whatever is asked of him.</p><p>He wants to make him cry. </p><p>He lifts his hips up, until only the tip remains inside, then he drops down, eliciting groans of pleasure from both of them. His thighs sting from the slap of skin to skin, and he chases the feeling, doing it again and again, moans spilling unabashedly from his lips.</p><p>At some point, Sakusa can’t remember when, mind hazy from the way Atsumu hits his prostate head on when he twists his hips just right, they began kissing. It was disgusting, their drool dripping from their mouths, sharing the same breaths, but Sakusa can’t get enough, licking the roof of Atsumu’s mouth as he bucks up into him.</p><p>He clenches against Atsumu, makes him cry out wonderfully, and <em> fuck, </em>why does he never get tired of this?</p><p>After how much time has passed with only the sound of their hips meeting and their ragged panting filling the room, he hears Atsumu let out a choked moan, feels the muscles on his abdomen twitching. He then slows his pace, content in swaying and rocking his hips to make it last longer. </p><p>“You’re so hot inside me, Atsumu. Being so good for me like this. You’re like my own personal dildo, yeah? Letting me use your cock like this,” He punctuates with a grind. His hair is sticking to his face now, reminding him of how hot this room had become. “Good boy.”</p><p>“L-Let me—Let me cum,” He hiccups, “Please, Kiyoomi—<em>f-fuck!</em>” He screams when Sakusa pinches both of his nipples at the same time, almost overwhelming him with pleasure. He’s sobbing now, tears escaping from his eyes and his gut burns that much hotter, desire almost threatening to swallow him up from the sight.</p><p>“You’re so beautiful like this,” Sakusa finds himself whispering unconsciously, swiping his thumb on his cheekbone, enamored by the pretty pink color staining it. </p><p>He doesn’t think Atsumu has heard, too lost now in his own mind. It’s like he doesn’t know whether to pull away from Sakusa’s touch or ask for more, so he’s stuck in a state of quivering, eyes closed tightly. He jolts when a wet tongue licks his cheek, lapping the salty tears away, and another sob is wracked out of him when Sakusa drops down on his cock again.</p><p>He wasn’t lying. Atsumu is beautiful like this. His heart aches pleasantly when he sees him so vulnerable, so dependent on <em> him</em>. </p><p>“Nobody’s allowed to make you like this, understand? <em> No one</em>. Just me. Only I can break you like this. Only me, understand?” </p><p>For now, Miya Atsumu is in his hands. He can crush him, destroy him so easily, and he will. He always does. And after he’ll build him back up again, piece by piece. That’s what they do. </p><p>That’s what keeps Atsumu coming back. That’s what makes Sakusa wait.</p><p>They’re strangers, practically. They know each other’s names, but what about their favourite color? Dish they hate? Things they fear? They don’t know that about each other.</p><p>But Sakusa knows the way Atsumu shivers when nails are scraped down his back, the way he puts up a cocky persona during sex because he likes being taken apart, being taught a lesson. Atsumu knows things about him too, like the fact he likes his blowjobs slobbering despite being a neat freak, or the way he seeks out control is just on the right side of too much. </p><p>They know things about each other in a way that people don’t.</p><p>“Cum for me. I know you want to. You’ve been holding it in for me so well.” Sakusa orders against his lips, wet and shiny with spit. “Now cum for me.”</p><p>Atsumu bucks into him with a sob that would’ve let the whole city know what they’re doing if their room wasn't soundproof. He holds off his own orgasm for a little longer, if only to watch Atsumu whimper in overstimulation, wishing he could feel the cum spurting inside him, painting his insides white. He groans loudly when he reaches his climax, pronounces it with a hickey sucked on the crux of the older man’s neck. </p><p>They’re left boneless, panting, holding each other even if sweat and cum are making their skin sticky. Sakusa holds him close, petting his hair and caressing his face, whispering sweet words of comfort that he couldn't say before as he gets down from his high.</p><p>They make eye-contact and for a long moment there’s only silence—then Atsumu starts laughing breathily, nuzzling against his neck like he belongs there, lips settling on his pulse point. For some reason, Sakusa can’t muster the scowl he usually has on his face when someone initiates contact and brings up a hand to settle on the back of his head instead.</p><p>This won't last long. Sakusa has to leave by morning. Atsumu sometime around noon. But for now there's still here, in this room together, and maybe they don't need to think of anything beyond that yet.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i kind of have no idea what im doing?? so comments and kudos are rlly rlly helpful!! but id appreciate it even if u enjoyed just a little bit! ^^</p><p>title from <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qU9mHegkTc4">505</a> by arctic monkeys</p><p>edit: i removed the pet names! i think it makes more sense this way (and for the overarching story too). </p><p>twitter: <a href="twitter.com/milkchi09">@milkchi09</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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